Urban Legends of Venice Beach

AFTER MOVING into my new apartment in Venice Beach, I took a walk with my roommate who had already been living in the apartment for a semester, so he knew the ins and outs of the neighborhood. What was interesting was the first story he told me about a man living in a house across the street from us.
“The guy who lives in that house is crazy” he said. “What do you mean, crazy?” I asked. Apparently the man has been living in Venice Beach for over 50 years, and rumor has it that he once went to the Venice Beach boardwalk where he invited a homeless man and a drug addict to live in his home with him. As my roommate explained this story, I stared across the street at this man’s home. Surrounded by a metal gate, the front yard is covered with old, broken chairs, tables, and shrubs that look like they haven’t been attended to in years. It was like a game of I Spy; I found four American flags hanging in various areas, a large mirror on top of the house, a clock displayed next to a window, and an old bike covered in dirt. His car sits in front of the house, an old blue VW wagon with all of the windows rolled down as if he has no concern for the car being robbed or stolen. As we walked back to our apartment, the man was leaving his home with his three dogs, all of which are of some mix of Pitbull—all without a leash. One is wearing a cone around its neck, and one has lost the functioning of its back right leg. The third dog, with a fatty tumor on its back the size of a baseball, has crossed paths with a smaller dog and is barking furiously in its direction as the man walks ahead, seemingly uninterested in the conflict.
Soon enough I believed the rumor to be true—this man must be crazy, yet there also must be a story there. How true are the stories we hear about “crazy” neighbors? With so many American flags, could he be a veteran? Has he created a halfway house for the homeless and the addicted? Venice Beach has always steered clear of being considered a stereotypical Los Angeles community, and he is the epitome of this ideal. Taking the advice of Professor George, I have resisted the urge to walk up alone, knock on his door and talk to him, but not a day goes by that I don’t look at his cluttered yard and wondered what his LA story is.

-- Lauren McHale

(photo credit: Lauren McHale)